Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1887-08-11

ten thoughts have got so far as this, / ask
you to persevere; since what / have to tell
you is not without its interest, and it has
never been told before, nor will again.
CHAPTER THE CoNsULs YARN.
A week had passed since the death of my
poor boy Harry, and one evening was in
my room, walking up and down and think
ing, when there came ring at the outer
door. Going down the steps, opened it
myself, and in came my old friends, Sir
Henry Curtis and Captain John Good, r.
n. They entered the vestibule and sat
themselves down before the wide hearth,
where | remember particularly good fire
of logs was burning
at is very kind of you to come round, :"
I said, by way of making a remark; sit
must have been heavy walking in the
SNOW"
They said nothing, but Sir Henry slowly
filled his pipe and lit it with burning en-
Der. AS he leaned forward to do so, the
fire got hold of a grassy bit of pine, and
f1ared up brightly, throwing the whole
scene into strong relief, and 1 thought
what splendid-looking man he was.
Calm, powerful face, clear-cut features
large gray eyes, yellow beard and hair
altogether magnificent specimen of the
higher type of humanity. Nor did his form
belle his face. l have never seen wider
shoulders or a deeper chest. Indeed, Sir
Henry's girth is so great that, though he is
six feet two high, he does not strike one as
a tall man. AS | looked at him [ could not
help thinking what a curious contrast my
little dried up self presented to his grand
face and form. Imagine to yourself a
small, withered, yellow-faced man of
siXty-three, with thin hands, large brown
eyes, q head of grizzled hair, cut short and
standing up like half-worn scrubbing-
brush-total weight, in my clothes, one
hundred and thirtytwO pounds and you
will get very fair idea Of Allan Quarter,
main, or by the natives ''Macumazahn
anglice"-he who keeps a bright lookout
at night, or, in vulgar English, sharp
fellow, who is not to be taken in.
Then there was Good, who is not like
either of us, being short, dark, stout-Uery
stout-with twinkling black eyes, in one OF
which an eyeglass is everlastingly fixed.
say stout, but it is a mild term: [ regret to
state that of late years Good has been run
ming to stomach in most disgraceful way.
Sir Henry tells him that it comes from
idleness and overlooking; and Good does
not like it at all, though he cannot deny it.
We sat for a while, and then [ got q
match and lit the lamp that stood ready on
the table; for the half-ight began to grow
dreary, as it is apt to do when one has just
one short week ago buried the hope Of ones
life All this time, Curtis and Good had
been silent, feeling, L suppose, that they
had nothing to say that could do me any
good, and content to give me the comfort
| of their presence and silent sympathy; for
! it was only their second visit since the
| funeral And it is, by the way, from the
| fact Of the presence of others that we really
derive support in our dark hours of grief
and not from their talk, which often only
serves to irritate US. Before a bad storm
| the game always herd together; but they
| cease their calling.
| They sat and smoked, and [ stood by the
| fire also smoking, and looking at them.
I At last | spoke. cold friends,'' / said
chow long is it since we got back from Ku-
kuanalsnd?"
''Three years." said Good. ''Why doyou
| ask"
Il ask because I think that I have had
| q long enough spell of civilization. / am
| going back to the veldt''
Sir Henry laid his head back in his arm
chair and laughed one of his deep laughs.
''How very odd,' he said; ''eh, Good?"
Good beamed at me mysteriously through
| his eyeglass, and murmured, Eyes, odd
very odd"
II don't quite understand" said I, look
| ing from one to the other; for dislike mys-
teries.
Don't you, old fellow" said Sir Henry.
''Then [ will explain. AS Good and were
| walking up here we had talk"
eff Good was there you probably did, y
put in sarcastically; for Good is a great
hand at talking ''And what may it have
been about?"
'What do you think?' asked Sir Henry.
| shook my head. It was not likely that
should know what Good might be talking
| about; he talks about so many things.
''Well, it was about little plan that l
| have formed-namely, that if you were
agreeable we should pack up our traps and
go off to Africa on another expedition"
Ifairly jumped at his words. ''You don't
say sop I cried.
Eyes I do, though, and so does Good:
don't you, GOod?"
'Rather," said the gentleman.
''Listen, old fellow went on Sir Henry,
with considerable animation of manner.
| ''Im tired of it, too, dead tired Of doing
nothing except play the squire in country
that is sick of squires. For year or more
hare been getting as restless as an old
elephant who scents danger. [ am always
| dreaming of Kukuanaland and Gagool and
| King Solomon's Mines. I can assure you
| have become the victim of almost unac
countable craving / am sick of shooting
| pheasants and cartridges, and want to have
q go at some large game again. There
| you know the feeling. That year we spent
| together up in Kukuanaland seems to me
worth all the other years Of my life put to
| gether. [ dare say that I am fool for my
pains, but can't help it; I long to go, and
| what is more, mean to CO." He paused
and then went on again. ''And, after all
why should I not go? I have no wife OF
parent, no chick or child to keep me. L
anything happens to me the baronetcy viii
| go to my brother George and his boy, as il
would ultimately do in any case. | am Of
| no Importance to any one"
| 'Ah'' 1 said, Thought you would come
| to that sooner or later. And now, Good
what is your reason for wanting to trek
| have you got one?"
''I have" said Good, solemnly. II never
/ do ANYTHING without a reason; and it ISM